


Bits and Pieces

by de_corporis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-07 23:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_corporis/pseuds/de_corporis
Summary: Where the Tumblr drabbles must go to die. Many pairings, many characters, many bits and pieces of ideas. I just needed to keep things in one place, as it were.





	1. What Cannot Be (Luna x Noctis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because no one asked Luna if she actually wanted to marry Noctis.

Lunafreya is never asked if she wants to marry Noctis. This isn’t a surprise. She is well aware of her status as a captive of Niflheim, no matter how much false obeisance the Emperor gives to her status as Oracle, but she still can’t help feeling a <i>bit</i> insulted that no one even pretended to take her feelings into consideration.

“We trust that this will be amenable to you,” says the Niflheim official who brought her the news. He has the good manners to look a little abashed as he stands before her, holding his hands stiffly at his sides as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “Given that you and Prince Noctis are childhood friends.”

 _Childhood friends_ , thinks Lunafreya. She supposes that’s true. She has fond memories of an eight-year-old Noctis, and she’s written faithfully to him these past twelve years. There’s only so much that can be gleaned from letters, however, and she only has a vague ideas of what a twenty-year-old Noctis is like.

“Yes,” says Lunafreya, and takes a sip of her tea. It’s been steeped slightly too long, and she fights the urge to grimace at the bitter aftertaste. “I’m quite pleased. You may tell the Emperor that I look forward to meeting the Prince in Altissia in order to seal this treaty through our marriage.”

The official looks relieved. Lunafreya smiles benevolently at him, and he bows at the waist before retreating politely from her presence.

As soon as she’s alone, Lunafreya sighs and leans back in her chair. She picks up the official notice and looks it over once again. The font is heavy and old-fashioned, printed on thick ivory paper with the Imperial seal embossed in the bottom right corner.

_BY ORDER OF HIS RADIANCE EMPEROR IEDOLAS ALDERCAPT: In order to end the conflict between Empire of Niflheim and the Kingdom of Lucis, it is decided that His Royal Highness Noctis Lucis Caelum and Her Grace Lunafreya Nox Fleuret…_

Lunafreya sets the missive aside, finishes her tea, and rises to her feet. It’s a lovely day out, and she rather fancies a stroll.

There’s a small garden at the very edge of Fenestala Manor that’s always been allowed to grow a little bit wild. The ground is carpeted with sylleblossoms that haven’t been coaxed into careful patterns, and moss covered trees spread their branches overhead to create a bower. It has always been where Lunafreya goes when she needs a bit of peace and quiet, and it’s where she goes now. She kicks her shoes off and flops down among the flowers, breathes deeply of their perfume while the shifting leaves send sunlight and shadows dancing across her skin.

In the darkness behind her eyelids, she calls up an image of Noctis. She’s seen plenty of pictures of him, of course, and knows that objectively speaking, he’s quite handsome. His letters seem to indicate that he’s kind enough, if still prone to fits of sullen withdrawal. As far as arranged marriage go, she could do so much worse. She’s lucky the Emperor doesn’t have a son.

She tries to picture their wedding night. She’s in a beautiful white gown; he’s wearing traditional Lucian black. They’re finally alone. Noctis pulls her against him and kisses her, then reaches up to loosen her hair from its elaborate coiffure…

Lunafreya wrinkles her nose. She doesn’t feel a thrill run down her spine, and her heart doesn’t beat just a little bit faster. It’s as if she’s imagining what it would be like to kiss _Ravus_ , for goodness’ sake.

A gust of cold wind brushes over her cheeks, and when she opens her eyes she’s not surprised to see Gentiana standing there. The Messenger looks as serene as ever. Lunafreya feels a stab of envy.

“It is good that the Oracle and the Chosen King will be joined together,” says Gentiana. Her voice is as soft as snowflakes drifting through the air. “You will both need all of your strength in the trials to come.”

All of a sudden, Lunafreya feels very old. She knows. Of course she knows. Her fate and Noctis’ were carved by the Crystal in centuries past, and there will be no happy life of wedded bliss for either one of them, with each other or anyone else. She was never going to be just another bride awaiting her wedding day with an intoxicating mixture of trepidation and excitement. She was never going to hold a bridegroom’s hand and think, _Yes, you are the one for me_. She was destined for something else.

She almost wants to scream. She wants to hurl herself at Gentiana and howl at the unfairness of it all. She is twenty-four years old. She wants to fall in _love_. She wants someone to fall in love with her. She wants to step away from the path the Astrals have set her and make her own way in the world.

But she is the Oracle. Lunafreya rises to her feet with as much grace as she can muster and offers Gentiana a smile. “Of course,” she says. “Let’s go back in. I had better draft some sort of address to the people.”

So she makes her peace with it. There’s little sense in mourning what can never be. But weeks later, when she staggers out of the ruins of Insomnia with the Ring of the Lucii in her hand, she think of Nyx Ulric and is driven to knees by a wave of grief and regret.

 _What might have been_ , she thinks, _if things were different_.

Then she walks forward. Toward Altissia. Toward Noctis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all honesty, I have a really hard time believing someone like Lunafreya would have wanted to marry Noctis. I feel that there's a big gap in maturity between the two of them, and she needs someone who's a bit more grown up and is more on her emotional wavelength. I mean, the one time when they actually met in person was when he was eight and she was twelve! That's not a good basis for a grand romance! Come on, Squeenix! Do better!


	2. Crystal Dust (Promptis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the Chosen King would never really leave Eos forever.

It was a swelteringly hot day.

A few drops of sweat trickled slowly down Prompto’s back, right between his shoulder blades, and he fought the urge to scratch. After ten years of darkness, sweating in the sun was still something of a novelty - when Noctis vanished into the Crystal and the Starscourge blotted out the sun, it hadn’t just gotten dark, it had gotten _cold_ , and hot summer afternoons were quickly reduced to nothing more than distant memories.

Prompto couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the renewed warmth. The sunlight that trailed over his arms and stabbed at his eyes had been paid for with blood, and that was a price he’d never wanted to pay.

He rolled his shoulders and squinted his eyes, focusing on the Elder Coeurl that he’d finally tracked to a cluster of boulders just north of the Taelpar rest area. She was a magnificent creature: strong and fierce, with graceful limbs and bold markings. Prompto felt a pang of guilt. If she hadn’t been killing the new livestock colonies that the settlers were trying to reestablish near the Causcherry Plains, he’d rather let her live. At least the fur at her muzzle was solid white. She’d already lived a long time, and her breeding years were behind her.

The coeurl stopped and sniffed the air, giving Prompto a clear view of her chest. He lined up his shot. Took a deep breath. Pulled the trigger.

It was a good shot. It should have struck home. But maybe the coeurl had developed some preternatural sixth sense during the long years of darkness, because at the last possible second she swerved to the side, and all his bullet did was leave a bloody gash along her shoulder. A painful wound, but not fatal.

Prompto cursed softly under his breath and took aim once more. Only now the coeurl had spotted him and was bounding forward, her enraged roar as loud as thunder in his ears. Once upon a time, Ignis had warned him that he should put more effort into his bladework. _A gun won't help you in close quarters,_ he'd said, and Prompto had just shrugged and laughed. He probably should have listened. Ignis had always known best, and he could really use a sword right about now.

Then he heard it: another low growl from somewhere behind him.

Prompto swore in earnest. While he’d been stalking one coeurl, another one had been stalking _him_.

His gun wasn't going to help much against one coeurl, let alone two. The best option was to try and run. Except that human legs were no match for a coeurl’s speed, and Prompto knew with sudden, terrifying clarity that he was going to die here.

So that’s how it was going to end. Prompto Argentum, onetime piece of Nifelheim biotech turned companion to the Last King of Lucis, who had survived ten full years of daemon-ridden darkness, was going to die in broad daylight at the claws of non-supernatural wildlife.

It was almost enough to make him laugh.

He settled for another curse and lifted the gun. He fired off one shot, then another, but it was no good. The coeurl in front was already springing toward him, its bared fangs gleaming in the sunlight, and he didn’t dare look and see where the other one was.

Then the world changed.

The wind picked up, and clouds rolled across the sky. The bright afternoon sunshine faded into the purple gray of evening. Prompto’s ears popped, and his chest grew tight. He couldn’t get enough air. He fell to his knees, struggling to draw breath while stars danced in front of his vision.

No. Not stars. Tiny pieces of crystal, spinning through the air like snowflakes.

Except that was impossible. The Oracle and the Chosen King were both dead, and the Astrals would never bother with those born to lesser bloodlines. The coeurls must have already killed him, and he was on his way to the afterlife. This must be what it looked like when the gates opened.

Prompto managed to drag a deep breath of air into his lungs and lifted his eyes to the heavens. He was ready to go. He wanted to cross over so badly, because when he did he would see -

 _Noct_.

There he was, taller than a colossus, standing in the middle of the crystal storm. He wasn’t the young Prince Prompto had left the Citadel with, nor was he the exhausted King who bade his companions farewell before marching to his death. He was something in between the two, his face unlined and unbearded, but stern and wise. He was Lucis’ true, eternal King; and if Prompto hadn’t already been on the ground, he would have fallen to his knees in reverence.

Noctis lifted one immense hand, and his weapons sang through the air. Prompto instinctively covered his face as the combined might of the royal armiger passed before him. He heard the coeurls’ yowls as the blades pierced their flesh, and he realized he probably wasn’t dead just yet.

Then it was over. The pressure in the air vanished, an Prompto scrambled to his feet. The clouds were already dissipating, leaving the sun’s merciless rays to beat down on his vanquished foes.

But Prompto didn’t even see them. He only had eyes for Noctis. The King stood before him, no longer taller than the Archeon but just as imposing, and he held one hand aloft in a gesture of farewell.

“No.” Prompto shook his head and ran forward, his boots scrabbling over loose rocks. “ _Noct._ Don’t go. Please.”

He’d almost managed to close the distance between them when Noctis vanished into the ether, leaving nothing but a shimmer of crystal dust that dissipated as soon as Prompto’s hands passed through it. Prompto stared at the space where Noctis had been, then collapsed onto the ground. He dug his fingers into the dirt while tears streamed down his face.

Noctis had been so close. Just a little more and Prompto would have been able to touch him.

“Come back,” he whispered raggedly through the pain in his chest. “Come back come back come back _come back_.”

How had Noct called upon the Astrals, back when they’d traveled through Lucis unaware of the monstrous fate that awaited the Chosen King? Noctis had said it was a pull, as if something was being drawn out of him that he had no control over.

 _I’m not really the one summoning them_ , he’d said after Ramuh had pulled them out of a particularly nasty run in with a behemoth. _They choose when they want to come, and it’s like I’m just the conduit. They’re the ones using me_.

And that had been what happened to Prompto, wasn’t it? He hadn’t been trying to call upon Noctis. He’d just been in a bad spot, and Noctis had offered his aid.

Prompto sat back on his heels and wiped the tears away from his cheeks, leaving them smudged with dirt. He looked at the broken bodies of the couerls, then pulled out his hunting knife and began removing their extravagant whiskers as a trophy.

He collected his bounty, and found a new hunt.

It was easy to fall into a pattern. Each bounty he tracked was more dangerous than the last: couerls to behemoths, behemoths to midgardsormrs. They were the sorts of beasts that were meant to be fought by a group of skilled hunters, not a lone gunslinger, and Prompto’s body paid the price. He left each battle bruised and bloody, with cracked ribs and broken fingers, loose teeth and concussions that left him unable to see straight for days.

But he never died, and he never stopped. Because Noctis always came for him.

Prompto lived for them now, those moments when the air grew heavy and the King coalesced out of swirling shards of crystal. Even as he knelt on the ground, in pain and gasping for air, his heart beat with agonizing joy whenever he saw Noctis’ face. He would happily spill every last drop of blood in his veins if it let him see Noct for just one more minute.

And if Noctis’ eyes grew increasingly sad and desperate every time he manifested, Prompto chose not to see it.

When he lay on the earth after an encounter with a Zu that left him lying half-senseless on the ground, bleeding copiously from both his shoulder and his chest, he heard Noctis’ voice drift through his mind.

 _This isn’t what I wanted for you_ , it said. _Prompto. Please. Stop._

Prompto smiled through the pain. “Can’t,” he slurred. “Miss you too much. Jus’ take me with you, Noct. Jus’ take me with you.”

Fragments of crystal sparkled across his darkening vision, and he let his eyes fall closed. He was so tired. He wanted to rest.

“Take me with you,” he whispered.

Just as he lost consciousness, he felt cool fingers touch his head. They caressed his hair as gently as a lover would, and when darkness descended on him he had a smile on his lips.

He’d never cared for sunshine.

He always preferred the night.

 


	3. The Dawn and the Dark (Prompto x Ardyn, Prompto x Noctis)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because there can never be too many Hades/Persephone AUs.

Prompto woke to the sensation of cold air brushing across his skin. He blinked a few times and stretched lazily against Noctis. His lover was still sound asleep, lips parted softly and one arm thrown lazily over Prompto’s waist. Prompto pressed a kiss against the curve of his cheek and began to untangle himself, moving slow and careful, not wanting to rouse him.

He needn’t have worried. Noctis grumbled a bit before he sighed and burrowed deeper into their bed of emerald green moss studded with brilliant blue forget-me-nots. Prompto took a moment to admire him. He made a magnificent picture, lying there in the speckled sunshine that filtered through the birch trees of their bower, clad in deep blue robes with a few stray flower petals caught in his dark hair.

There it was again, that ribbon of cold. Prompto followed it out of the circle of trees and let it run over his arms and across his lips like an icy caress. It was an aberration on this lovely day that was warm, bright, and full of sunshine, but Prompto heeded the message it brought.

He pressed a kiss against his knuckles and held his hand out for the wind to carry it away. He smiled as the breeze ruffled his hair and stroked his cheeks, leaving him shivering just a bit, and then it was gone, blowing back to the Underworld.

Warm arms slipped around him and tugged him against a firm chest. Prompto turned his head to let Noctis capture his mouth in a deep, possessive kiss.

“Not yet,” said Noctis when he pulled away. His arms tightened, and he buried his face in Prompto’s golden hair. “You don’t have to go yet.”

“Not yet,” agreed Prompto, and he stroked his fingers gently over Noctis’ hands. “But soon.”

* * *

When mortals told the story, they said Prompto was stolen.

They said Prompto was a nymph, low-ranking but so beautiful and charming that he could coax flowers to bloom with nothing more than a smile. He captured the heart of Noctis, god of the dawn, and the two of them were pledged in marriage. All of the gods gave their blessing to the union save one: Ardyn, King of the Underworld and Lord of the Dead, who looked upon the couple’s happiness and was consumed with jealousy. The day that Noctis and Prompto were to wed, Ardyn burst forth from his subterranean kingdom, snatched Prompto out of the arms of his betrothed, and dragged him forcibly into the depths of the earth.

Noctis was consumed with grief and anger, and refused to rouse the sun from its nightly slumber. The plants died, and the world became cold. He finally sent his most trusted friend, Ignis, to rescue his beloved from Ardyn’s clutches. But Ardyn was as clever as he was spiteful, and by the time Ignis arrived in the Underworld, he had tricked Prompto into eating six seeds of a pomegranate.

They said Prompto wept bitterly when he realized he had bound himself to the Underworld, and Noctis fell at the feet of his father Regis, King of the Gods, and pleaded for him to release Prompto from his confinement. But the law was the law, and even the mightiest deities had to abide by it. All Regis could do was allow Prompto to spend half of each year with Noctis, while the other half was spent with Ardyn in the Kingdom of the Dead. Noctis bowed his head in acquiescence, but he could not banish his grief. For the six months Prompto was trapped beneath the earth, Noctis hid himself away in mourning, and the land remained cloaked in darkness until his beloved returned.

That was the story told by mortals. And while it held a certain amount of truth, the actual tale went like this:

Prompto was indeed an exceptionally fair nymph, and he had indeed caught Noctis’ eye. But Noctis was a shy god, especially when it came to beautiful nymphs. He had not yet summoned the courage to tell Prompto how he felt when his father summoned all of the immortals to a feast celebrating the betrothal of Lunafreya, goddess of the moon, to Nyx, lord of the hunt. Noctis intended to speak to reveal the truth of his heart to Prompto there, perhaps even ask his father’s blessing. Except the festivities had barely begun when Ardyn appeared, uninvited and unannounced, and knelt before Regis’ throne.

“You defeated me in battle in ages past,” he said, “and I am content to rule the Kingdom of the Dead as you commanded. Yet I grow lonely among the shades. You are fierce and just, but also compassionate. Surely you will not deny me a consort.”

Regis stared down at him with a face carved of stone. “You are bold to interrupt such a joyous occasion, my lord,” he said, his voice low and ominous.

“And when else should I come?” asked Ardyn, his eyes burning like flames. “I live in the shadows, far from the radiance of the other gods. I bear my sentence with grace, for the dead must be tended to. But when I heard of this celebration of love, how could I not grow envious? I am alone under the earth, with no one to bring a sense of warmth and gentleness. Surely that is not such a large thing to ask from such a great king as yourself.”

Regis’ expression was as grim as an approaching thunderstorm, but before he could pass judgement, Prompto stepped forward.

Prompto’s greatest gift was his boundless capacity for love. He was the nymph who cared for fawns whose mothers were felled by hunters’ arrows, and the nymph who begged the zephyrs for gentle winds to support young birds when they first took flight. When he looked at Ardyn, he saw a god who was fierce and proud and dread, but also a god who was lonely, and Prompto’s heart ached for him.

“I will go with you,” he said, and knelt before the King of the Dead. “If that will please you.”

Ardyn looked at Prompto and saw that he was bright as the early morning sunlight and gentle as the eastern breeze, and a seed of love took root in his cold heart. He took Prompto’s hands and pressed his lips against them. Then he rose to his feet, lifted Prompto in his arms, and with a swirl of his dark cloak swept them back to his subterranean realm.

In that moment, Noctis felt his heart break. He fled from the gathering, heedless of his father’s command to stay, and hid himself away in the mountains where he tormented himself with grief and regret that he had not spoken sooner.

In the sun’s long absence, the land suffered. The plants withered, and animals went hungry. The people fell into despair and spent hours on their knees praying for the return of light. Regis pleaded with his son to summon the dawn, then commanded him, but Noctis would not be swayed.

Deep beneath the earth, Prompto heard the frightened cries from the world above, and his heart grew heavy. One night, as Ardyn slept, he slipped out from the Underworld and into the mountains where Noctis had sequestered himself. He saw how lank and unkempt Noctis’ hair had become, and how dark the circles under his eyes were, and felt tears spring to his own eyes.

“What troubles you so?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Noctis and holding him close. “The entire world cries out for the dawn’s return. What has caused you to forsake your duty?”

“How can I summon the sun to shine upon the earth when you are not there to greet it?” replied Noctis. He buried his face against Prompto’s shoulder and finally revealed what was in his heart: how much he loved Prompto, how he had been too timid to speak out, and how fiercely he regretted that weakness. And then he wept until he could weep no more, and Prompto’s tunic was soaked with his tears.

Prompto stroked his hair and remained silent for a long while. He himself had always held a love for Noctis in the deep recesses of his heart, but that had been tempered with the knowledge that Noctis was far too great for him. A lowly nymph could never aspire to the King of the Gods’ son. And yet here they were.

He finally pressed a single kiss against Noctis’ forehead. It was nothing more than a brief touch, but even that was enough to kindle hope in Noctis’ forlorn spirit.

“I have an idea,” said Prompto.

* * *

Prompto arrived just as the sun dipped beneath the western horizon. The sky was tinged with shades of crimson, orange, and delicate pink, and the last rays of sunshine made Prompto’s hair shine like gold as he approached the cavern that led down to the Underworld. Ardyn stood just within the entrance, a foreboding figure shrouded in gloom, but as Prompto drew near a smile crossed his face.

“Welcome back, my love,” he said, and lifted Prompto’s hand to his lips.

Prompto smiled in return. He let Ardyn lead him deep into the bowels of the earth, and as he passed from sight, darkness fell over the land.

When the moon had waxed and waned six times, Prompto woke from a dream in which he walked through fields of flowers beneath the noonday sun. He felt warm, even in the perpetual chill of the Underworld, and he thought he felt a summer breeze brush over his skin.

He lifted his head from the pillow and saw Ardyn gazing at him with mournful eyes.

“You’ll go soon,” said the King of the Dead, “and leave me here alone.”

Prompto reached up and touched his lord’s cheeks, then pulled him into a gentle, lingering kiss.

“But I will return,” he said, threading his fingers through maroon locks. “I will always return to you.”

When Prompto left the Underworld, Noctis was waiting for him. He stepped forward to embrace Prompto, and as soon as Prompto was wrapped in his arms the sun began to rise.

“You’ve come back to me,” he breathed, touching their foreheads together.

“Yes,” answered Prompto, and kissed him. “Always.”


End file.
